


Quadruple Drabble: And Behind Door Number Three.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Batman Begins
Genre: M/M, Quadruple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-03
Updated: 2005-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:26:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Image and pairing prompt from firestorm717: Crane/Wayne. <a href="http://www.foxmoorfarm.ca/images/toast.jpg">Image</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quadruple Drabble: And Behind Door Number Three.

**Author's Note:**

> (Image is of a piece of toast with jam on top. It is cut in half on a plate. Behind it are four bottles that are labeled as Black Currant Jam.)

"Trust me. I'm a doctor."

Bruce didn't doubt that, but there was no denying that Jonathan wasn't a _normal_ doctor. To be frankly honest, Jonathan was certifiably insane.

"I know I am," Jonathan continued. "Insane, that is. Still, it's no handicap to proscribing for patients. You can't expect me to give up my life's work just because I happen to have temporarily, or perhaps permanently, taken leave of my senses."

Bruce considered gaping at him, but being gagged limited his options somewhat. Instead, he just fixed Jonathan with a piercing look, one that said very clearly, _I don't give a damn if you're a doctor, I don't like jam on my French toast._

Jonathan leaned across the table and took the gag out of Bruce's mouth. Bruce exercised his jaw back and forth. "Come on, open up. Daddy has food for baby."

In. Fucking. Sane. But Bruce opened his mouth anyway. Just to show him.

Jonathan speared one piece of the toast with the fork and held it up to Bruce's mouth. Bruce closed his mouth around it, chewed and swallowed. He'd eaten worse in his travels, true, but not even goat balls had been delivered from the end of a madman's fork.

The label still applied even though it was Bruce's fork. His china set. His dining room. Only a madman would dress up as a bat and jump off buildings. Sometimes Bruce wondered if all this would have happened if he'd gone into therapy like his pediatrician had suggested. But if he had, Gotham would have been destroyed, so maybe there was a lesson there.

Having Dr. Crane, the city's foremost psychoanalyst, sitting across the table from him didn't disprove that hypothesis.

Jonathan fed him another piece of toast and Bruce wished he'd paid more attention to how to unlock handcuffs using only his nails and the back of an expensive chair. "How'd you get in here?"

"Practice," Jonathan said. He shoved another piece of toast in Bruce's mouth before Bruce could say anything. "It makes perfect, you know. And daddy loves to be perfect." Then he frowned and leaned in very very close, whispered into Bruce's ear. "Really, Batty, you didn't actually think I _didn't_ inoculate myself as often as necessary?"

This time Bruce did gape at him. And Jonathan shoved another piece of toast in his mouth.

"Eat up. Daddy still wants to play with baby."


End file.
